


Taking Turns

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi, Porn With Plot, Sex, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whose turn is it to take control?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Turns

"Your turn or mine?" Teyla's voice is like silk against John's skin, her breath a torment that whispers through his hair.

He can feel the heat of her body behind him, so close but not touching, knows instinctively that if he leaned back, he'd feel her nipples pressing against his back. Between his spread thighs, his cock strains, but he holds himself still.

He can do this. He _will_ do this.

But when she skims her fingertips down his arms to his wrist and back up again, John can't help the groan that escapes past clenched teeth. Every nerve in him is tingling, twitching, trying to hold still.

 _Don't move. Don't make a noise. Nobody will hear this. Nobody will know._

A shadow kneels before him, dreadlocks swinging around bare shoulders that gleam with a lacquer of sweat. "Mine." Ronon says with a laugh, and bends down. Powerful lips slide across John's jaw, unbridled hunger to Teyla's controlled heat, and there's fire everywhere - and then nowhere but the trail those lips mark down his body.

This time, he can't help the groan. Ronon doesn't do anything by halves and his balls ache and strain as that mouth plunges him deep then catapults him up to the verge of pleasure.

"Gently, Ronon," Teyla's fingers skim through his hair, tracing damp trails across his scalp. Two points press against his back, satiny curves against his shoulders. "Do not spend him too soon."

But Ronon doesn't stop, ferocious in love as he is in hatred and John can feel his control slipping, his concentration splintering as his nerves vibrate him into tiny pieces. He squeezes his eyes shut.

 _Can't move. Mustn't. Can't let go. Not like this..._

Abruptly, Teyla's gone from behind him, and the loss is sharp as a slap. But when he opens his eyes, she's stepping in front of him, the unshaven curl of her pubis before him in invitation.

John almost lunges to take her in his mouth.

There are curls poking his nose, and moist musk on his lips, but it's something for him to focus on - someone else to pleasure as thoroughly as Ronon's pleasuring him.

And John moves his mouth over Teyla without mercy.

Firm strokes of his tongue over her tip, the rhythm of his mouth in her flesh; John knows how Teyla likes her fellatio, how to bring her to the screaming edge in minutes. Ronon's mouth is still riding him hard - a long slide of lips up and down in pressured strokes that has John's breath short and harsh - but that's not the only thing in John's head anymore.

It's not just about him.

Ronon doesn't understand how he can't just let go, put himself in their hands for pleasure without needing to reciprocate. Doesn't John trust them?

It's not a matter of trusting _them_.

At least John can count on Teyla to understand about the personal need for self-control.

And he likes breaking hers.

He gentles now, flicking his tongue along her labia - swollen lips that promise a deeper oblivion, the lure of possession and enclosure, his cock sinking into her, spilling himself into her as he's about to spill himself in Ronon's mouth...

His cock is suddenly cold, and the swipe of hot, flexible tongue over his balls hums through him.

Teyla gasps, and John backs off, only to have his head pulled up in a grip of gentle steel. "That was not a request to cease."

In answer, John slides his fingers lightly up her trembling thighs, tracing the sensitive curve beneath her buttocks and watching her eyes close as he circles her anus with his finger, a promise that won't be fulfilled - not right now. Her hands rest on his head, a gentle benediction, but when he rests the rough of his jaw against her inner thigh, he can feel her straining to hold back.

"Don't hold back," he breathes against her, then yelps.

Ronon's taking his words to heart.

The growing pressure, expertly built by Ronon, makes John a little rougher than he'd like. No slow, sensuous crest for Teyla, but a hard and fast punch into atmosphere.

He listens to her pant, control growing elusive as he works her clit with his lips. But he can't stave off his own orgasm much longer - Ronon's too hungry, and John aches too much.

When John flies, he's hyperaware of everything around him - his instruments, the sky, the sound of his engines, the mission - it all occupies a very specific place in his awareness.

Orgasm is like flying - the taste of Teyla on his lips, Ronon's laugh vibrating against the tip of John's cock as he comes, the soft curve of her butt over the hard muscle, the flex of her hands in his hair as his body shudders and his mouth closes hard over her.

When she arches back in the early throes, it's against Ronon, who's stood up behind her and his supporting her - or she's supporting him. John can't tell because his fingers are teasing her vagina, flirting with the slick moisture there.

Slowly, his hands creep up, past Ronon's hands on her hips, letting her lean over him, breasts drooping down, shuffling backwards as she bends over until her mouth meets his.

Ronon takes her from behind, swift and slick - simple release for him, more complex for Teyla, who muffles her cries against John's throat, while he cups her breasts from beneath and watches Ronon's face as he climaxes - unbridled pleasure, without reserve or restraint.

John loves and envies that, and he turns his lips into the curve of Teyla's neck and whispers encouragements as she shudders through a prolonged orgasm that leaves her limp and boneless in John's lap, while Ronon smirks his satisfaction and busses his lips against John's.


End file.
